


glasnost

by thoughtsthatfester



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Cold War, Espionage, F/M, Gen, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-07-21 13:35:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7389079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsthatfester/pseuds/thoughtsthatfester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1986, London</p>
<p>Gaby and Illya have gone to great lengths to keep their son Alexander safe.</p>
<p>The KGB makes the approach just before Christmas and they're able to offer him what he's always wanted - a chance to know his father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

He is sixteen when they first try to recruit him. His mother is at work and Harrow is on break. They’re going to his godfather Waverly’s house in the country for the holiday but until then he’s on his own. He spends the day shopping, looking for Christmas presents for his mother and godfather. Alexander realizes he’s being followed. He spots the man in the tube station, then in Selfridges, and finally when he stops for tea. 

For all he knows this could have something to do with his mother’s work. Before he can decide how to slip away from the man following and make a call to his mother, the man sits down beside him. 

“Sasha,” the man begins in heavily accented English.

He freezes at the use of the nickname. No one besides his mother has used that name in years. At eleven he decided that Sasha was a little boy’s name and declared he would only answer to Alexander. Everyone had (mostly) complied with his request. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, standing up. “I think you have the wrong person.”

“No. You are Alexander Schmidt Teller, born November 11, 1970. You attend the Harrow School. You speak German, English, and French. You are on the Rugby team. No. I have right person.”

Alexander sits back down. “You seem to know so much about me, but you haven’t introduced yourself.” He does not allow his shaking legs to shake the table. He is doing his very best to appear calm. Alexander is terrified. He should not be. The man is not very tall – nothing compared to him. Not done growing, he stands at 6’3. He is no longer the lanky child he once was. He’s filled out. He can take care of himself.

“My name is not important.” 

“I must call you something.” He is trying hard to sound unaffected. He is trying to channel James Bond or at the very least his charming Uncle Napoleon. They would know what to do and say in this situation. Their legs would not be shaking underneath the table. 

“Nikolei is as good a name as any.”

“Alright, Nikolei. How do you know my name and what do you want with me?”

“I have come about your father.”

“I don’t have a father,” he answers reflexively. 

“Very well. I guess you do not wish for information about him.” He man stands abruptly and Alexander makes a move to stop him.

“Please,” he pleads. “Don’t go. Tell me anything.” 

For as long as he can remember he’s wondered about his father. He knew very little. His father was tall and blonde – he didn’t get his height or hair from his mother. His father was not dead. If he were, why the big mystery? The only fact that really mattered was the fact that his father was not around, had never been around. Despite his mother’s assurances that his father did not wish to abandon him and loved him very much, he’d felt the absence strongly. You’ll understand when you’re older. When would he be old enough to understand? His questions had gone unanswered since he started asking them. 

“You do not know about your father.” It is not a question.

“No.” 

“A boy should know his father. It is not fair your mother keeps such information from you.”

“What can you tell me? Why are you here?”

He pulls a folder from the inside of his jacket and slides it across the table to Alexander. 

Alex opens the folder and picks up the photograph lying on top. “My father?” he asks although he doesn’t have to. The face staring back at him looks so much like his own. His father is real and alive. Illya Kuryakin. KGB Colonel. He studies the page like he’ll be given an exam, like the folder will be snatched from his hands and he’ll lose the only connection he’s ever had to his father. 

“Why have you given me this?” He asks when he remembers the man is still there. 

“I am a friend. Like I said, a boy should know his father.”

“And what do you want from me? Surely this information does not come without strings attached.”

“You are a smart boy. You speak three languages. You do well in school. Perhaps you study Russian at University. There will always be a place for you with us.”

“Are you trying to recruit me? I’m not even Russian.”

“Of course you are. Your passport might say Great Britain but your father is valued member of the KGB. Should you ever need anything from us or perhaps want to meet your father just come to the embassy and tell them who you are.” 

Like that the man is gone and Alexander is left sitting in the café. He pours over the information in the folder and lets his half-drank tea go cold. He knows what this is and he doesn’t care. He has just accepted information from a foreign intelligence agency. They just encouraged him to study Russian in school and come work from them when he graduates. They have asked for nothing explicitly, but it’s all implied. In return they have given him the most precious information in the world. 

It’s all in the folder. Everything. He reads the analysis of his father and of his mother. He smiles at the thought of an intelligence analyst speculating about the relationship between two middle-aged people; his smile fades before he finishes reading. He’s angry at his mother. If the information is to be believed she’s met with his father dozens of times over the years. The KGB never actually caught them together but it’s all there in the report. They were often in the same city and Illya, his father, had a tendency to disappear for a night or so when he was stationed in Europe. 

His mother used to be a spy. It’s a bit shocking, but he’ll process that later. All he can think about is his father. According to the report he’s spent the past couple of years in Afghanistan running the intelligence operations for the war. The KGB has in the past worried he might defect. They were worried for a period in the 60s when he was running around Europe with his mother and Uncle Napoleon. 

When his mother got pregnant he returned to Moscow. There is no explanation for what his father was doing, just a note that he’d earned two promotions and is no longer considered a defection risk. 

He should tell his mother and file a report or something with MI6. He didn’t need the report to tell him his mother worked there. She’d become a translator when she’d become a mother and handled communications in the East Germany division. That last part he learned from the file. 

He reads the file from cover to cover and can’t help be annoyed with his parents. The man from the KGB was right. A boy should know his father. Clearly the KGB knew all about his existence. Denying him contact with his father had not kept him safe. And perhaps he did not need to be kept safe from the KGB. The Cold War seemed to be coming to an end. Russia had fought with them against the Nazis. Surely they could not be as bad as everyone seemed to think. After all, they’ve given him more answers than his mother has given him in a lifetime. 

By the time he leaves the café he is angry. He wonders who made the choice to keep his father a secret. Apparently it was not a very well-kept one. He cannot feel anger at his father. He’s just a photo and a piece of paper. He is living under diplomatic cover in Kabul. It wouldn’t be difficult to contact him. He works in an embassy, not some spy lair in the Ural Mountains. Alexander could call or write. It wouldn’t be difficult to contact him. He wouldn’t know what to say, especially now that he knows his parents have been in contact with one another. If he writes his father, he risks his father alerting his mother. 

He wonders if perhaps his father had a hand in orchestrating this meeting. He’s a KGB Colonel after all. The KGB can give him the one thing he’s wanted since he’s been a little boy – a father. Surely a KGB Colonel could contact him openly, that is unless he was purposely trying to keep it a secret. 

It’s his mother he’s mad at. She will return home from work and cook dinner and eat with him and pretend like she’s done nothing wrong. And perhaps she hasn’t done anything wrong but she has never explained her choices to him. It’s not as though there have been other men in her life. If the information from the KGB is to be believed she’s maintained a relationship with his father while he’s been kept in the dark. Years of rendezvous have happened. They’ve met up in Istanbul and Brussels and Paris and Munich and all the other places his mom jetted off to while he was left behind or away at school. 

He’s too upset to go home so he walks and walks and walks until his head is clear. He will not explode when he gets home. He will not confront his mother. He’s mad, of course he’s mad, but this isn’t her fault. He should not blame her. There is likely a good explanation for all of this. Perhaps one day someone will sit down and talk to him about the whole situation. Maybe one day his mother will speak to him like he’s an adult and he won’t have to rely on information given to him by a foreign intelligence agency. 

He knows what they’ll want now that he’s taken the information. He’s a student of history. He knows all about people like Kim Philby. He expects they’ll ask for something he’s not prepared to give. He’ll report his contact with the KGB, but he’s going to play this out. He’s not going to let them expel “Nikolei” from the country before he can learn more about his father. 

Alexander will meet his father and he’s going to use the KGB to do it.


	2. Chapter Two

He wanders through the city and finds himself in a bookshop where he buys an intro to Russian book. He tucks the folder from “Nikolei” into the back. 

He returns home after the long walk and feels better. 

His mother is cooking dinner when he walks in. She has the radio on and she’s humming as she cooks. She’s making some pasta dish and the sauce smells delicious. 

“Hi Sasha, how was the shopping trip?”

“Fine.” He says. He still hasn’t decided how much he’s going to tell his mother. He crosses the kitchen and grabs the spoon from the pot of sauce. He takes a taste and compliments his mother on it. “When will dinner be ready?”

“Not for another half hour.”

“Alright, I’m going to go change.” He says and heads off to his room. He closes the door and takes the file out from the back of the book. His mother never invades his privacy but he must be careful nonetheless. He lifts his mattress and places it on the bedframe and then sets the mattress back down silently. 

He sits down on the bed, slides out of his shoes and pulls his shirt over his head. He lays back and sighs. He should tell his mother about the meeting today. He wants to lift up the mattress and check to make sure the documents are still there. He knows they are. Today’s events are too fantastical for him to have imagined them. Still, he wants to check anyway. 

As a child he used to lie in bed and wonder about his father. He wondered where he was and what he was doing and if he even knew about him. He has answers for the first time in his life but he feels like a little boy, lying in bed wondering about his father. 

He wonders what time it is in Afghanistan and what his father is doing. Maybe one day his father will have dinner with them. He wonders if he’s eating alone in some apartment in Kabul or if he dines out with other members of the KGB. 

His mind starts racing as he starts to worry about his mother’s reaction. He cannot tell her. If he tells her he may never meet his father. This may be his only chance and that’s if his father survives life in the war zone. It would be a cruel twist of fate for his father to die before they got a chance to meet. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility. 

His heart starts pounding in his chest and he feels the worry starting to overwhelm him. He takes a deep breath and puts his hands on his chest, finding comfort in the rise and fall. He thinks about nothing but the lengths of his inhale and exhale. He is nearly calm by the time his mother calls him out for dinner. 

He takes his seat across the table from his mother and they eat in silence. As he helps himself to a second and third serving his mother helps herself to a glass of vodka. 

“Do you speak Russian?” He asks. It’s abrupt but it’s better they talk about this instead of “Nikolei” and the file. He doesn’t need to ask the question. He already knows the answer from the file.

“Why do you ask?”

“I’ve decided to learn Russian. I wanted to know if you spoke any or could help me.”

“What brought this on?”

“I dunno. You never answered my question, do you speak Russian?”

“A little. My grammar has never been very good.”

“I got a book on it. I think I’m going to study it until I have to go back to school. 

“When we go to Waverly’s you should take a look in his library, he’ll have some more advanced books.”

“That would be great,” he smiles.

He clears the table then settles on the couch and spends the rest of the night trying to distract himself with a cricket match on TV. 

His mother sets off for work in the morning. They’re leaving for Waverly’s house in the country that night so he spends the morning packing. He hasn’t fully unpacked from school so it doesn’t take long. When he’s finished he pulls the Russian book from his nightstand and sits crossed legged on his bed attempting to learn the Cyrillic alphabet. 

He can’t focus. Instead he lifts up his mattress and retrieves the file. He takes out the photograph of his father and brings it into the living room. On the walls are eleven years of school portraits. He holds the photo side-by-side to his most recent photo. 

The resemblance really is uncanny. He got his mother’s dark eyes and chin but there’s no denying the familial resemblance. He wonders if it’s ever been difficult for her, living with the resemblance. 

Perhaps his mother has other photos. He returns the photo and file to its spot beneath his mattress and sets off for his mother’s bedroom. 

The room has always been sparse. With the exception of photos of him, she never kept mementos. He tries to think like a spy. He ignores the photo albums under the bed and looks under drawers and in the closet. In the back of the closet he finds a large book with what he thinks is Russian on the cover. He flips through the pages hoping to find something. There is a photo tucked between the pages as a bookmark but it’s only his mother standing in front of some ancient building. On the back he sees his mother’s near handwriting – Cairo, April 1970. 

He does the math and quickly realizes that his mother must be pregnant with him in the photo. He’s never seen any photos of his mother pregnant. She doesn’t look it. It’s an unremarkable photo. Why would she have kept it? Perhaps his father took it. He searches for more book and more photos but he finds nothing. He didn’t really expect to. This photo tells him nothing about his father but it proves that she’s saved souvenirs. Maybe one day she’ll dig out of a secret stash and share some information with him. 

He spends the rest of the day staring at the Cyrillic alphabet but learning little. His mother returns home with dinner and they eat before they get in the car and head to the country. 

He’s been spending holidays and summers at Waverly’s house since he was little. The old home provided endless entertainment as a child. It was solitary, but he was used to it. Being an only child meant he spent a lot of time with adults. As he got older he’s spend more time visiting friends, but Waverly’s house was a constant. 

They arrived just after 9. He put his bag up in the guest room he’d occupied since he was young and then joined Waverly and his mother in the library. 

“I’ve been learning Russian,” he tells his godfather.

Waverly shoots Gaby a look from across the room. “And what inspired this?”

Alexander sees the look and understands. In retrospect there have been lots of looks when the conversation had turned to Russia or the Cold War, but now he sees and understands. “I wanted a challenge. I think it will be useful. My mother says you have some Russian books.”

“Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll dig them out in the morning for you.”

“Thank you.”

The three of them sit and drink scotch that Alexander hates but drinks anyway. It makes him feel like one of the grownups. 

Uncle Napoleon will arrive on Boxing Day. Though Napoleon was older than his mother, he felt like a kindred spirit, like a teenager. Part of it, he assumes, is due to his being unattached – no children, no wife, no real responsibilities. The last time he visited was two years ago. He took him to a pub and bought him drinks. He’d drank a couple of times with friends from school when he was visiting a friend’s house in Scotland. They’d stolen wine from the cellar and drank until they got headaches. This was different. 

“When you’re older I’m gonna get you laid.” Napoleon had said, admiring one of the cocktail waitresses. 

“You Americans are so crude.”

Napoleon paused and looked at him with an unreadable expression. 

“What is it Uncle Napoleon? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing. Nothing. You just remind me of someone I used to know. I’d never really seen it before.”

“My father?”

He sighed, “yes. But don’t tell your mother I told you that. Not that you couldn’t have figured it out on your own.”

“I won’t.”

“Don’t tell her about this either,” he says, gesturing to their drinks. 

He’s excited to spend time with his Uncle. Napoleon lived in Europe when he was a little kid. For the past few years he’d been in New York so the visits have been scarce. If anyone is going to give him information on his father it’s him. 

He doesn’t trust Uncle Napoleon enough to tell him about the KGB. He doesn’t trust anyone enough to tell them about the KGB. He’ll tell them all eventually. Better to ask forgiveness than seek permission. 

He’ll learn as much as he can from Uncle Napoleon and when he returns to London he’ll see if the Soviet embassy will give him what he wants.


	3. Chapter Three

Napoleon shows up on Boxing Day with gifts from New York. He hasn't seen Sasha in a couple of years and has to bite back a curse when he sees him. He’s grown so much since the last time they saw each other. The resemblance is uncanny – it’s only gotten stronger with age. 

When it stops raining Napoleon suggests that he and Alex take the shotguns and go shooting. Gaby has always encouraged a friendship between them. Sasha needed a father figure. She had always insisted on that. In another life it would have been Illya but the Berlin Wall, Cold War, and ideological differences all got in the way. Napoleon was an unlikely choice but he was around and they both trusted him. Perhaps he was a little too lenient but he had done a good job like he’d promised Illya he would all those years ago. 

Gaby couldn’t have done it without Waverly. He arranged everything when she figured out she was pregnant all those years ago. They’d sat in his office – him, her, and Illya – and weighed all their options. 

Illya did not want to defect. He would if she asked him to so she never asked. He loved Mother Russia but didn’t want his child tangled up in the mess. Loving his country did not mean he loved the party leadership or the political choices that had been made. It would be best for him to return to Moscow, quell the defection rumors and reevaluate his role in his child’s life as time progressed. It was not an easy choice but it would be best for all of them. 

Waverly had made the arrangements and paid Alexander’s school fees. He provided the grandfatherly wisdom and after he retired entertained him in the summers. He’d developed a soft spot for all of them after years of working together. If Illya had asked, he would have been able to get him out. They’d extracted agents before. They even had a KGB Colonel defect recently. It wouldn’t be unheard of. Some defectors had to be given new identities and live their lives in hiding. That would likely have been the case had Illya defected – at the very least he could have been a part of his child’s life. 

Alexander has never fired a gun before so Napoleon teaches him. It’s only a shotgun but Alex is a natural. He gets the hang of it almost instantly. He’s got steady hands and a good aim. 

It starts to drizzle but Alexander insists they continue. 

“I could be on an island with a rich divorcee but I chose to be here with you.”

“Thanks, Uncle Napoleon. It really warms my heart,” he smirks. 

They shoot for a bit and move on to the pigeons instead of targets. Napoleon can't keep it in anymore. It’s almost as if Alex is willing Napoleon into action with the strength of his thoughts. 

"You look so much like your father when you shoot a gun. It's a bit unnerving. But it's good. I know your mother doesn't like me to talk about it or say anything to you. I thought you should know." 

"Thank you. Do you think I'll ever meet him or at least know his name?" He's not sure what game he's playing. He has answers and it's not Napoleon’s call whether he meets his father. Finally he is the one with information and finally he is the one keeping the secrets. Maybe it’s about power or maybe he wants to punish everyone around him for having kept this massive secret. Maybe he just wants to learn as much as he can. 

"I hope so." Napoleon sighs. 

"I wish you would tell me something." He shoots and the clay pigeon explodes. 

"Nice shot. Are you sure you haven’t done this before? You’re a little too good at this.”

"You're trying to change the subject."

"I wish I could tell you something too."

"You can. Just a small detail, anything." 

"He'd be happy with the man you've become."

Alexander smiles. That’s something the file couldn’t tell him. In the past week he’s learned more than he has in the past sixteen years. 

They continue shooting until all the pigeons are gone. 

They eat dinner and Napoleon complains about the food. He’s never particularly liked the countryside

When everyone has gone to sleep, Alex sneaks back down into the library. When Waverly had given him the books to learn Russian, he’d seen other books on the subject. He couldn’t have asked for them. Why would he need books on the structure of the KGB? He’d never been particularly interested in international relations before and he’s afraid to tip his hand and get one of the three intelligence agents in the house suspicious. 

He stays up and reads about tradecraft and structure and all that is known about the shadowy organization. It’s notoriously difficult for western agents to penetrate. The KGB is impressive. He can’t deny that. The Soviet system is deeply flawed and particularly brutal, but the KGB recruits the best and brightest. He knows from his father’s file that he’s a smart man and an impressive member – he was once the best, most effective agent in the whole organization. He wonders if his father has ever killed a man. He must have. He wonders if he’s ever assassinated anyone in the west. 

For the first time since he was approached he understands the gravity of the situation. He’s been offered unprecedented access to the KGB. Despite his time at Harrow he’s never felt entirely British. Maybe it’s because of his mother, or somehow, even because of his father. Regardless, he’s a Brit and he has an obligation to report his contact with the KGB. 

He retrieves the notebook where he’s been practicing writing Cyrillic and flips to an empty page in the back. He records the date and approximate time of his contact with the KGB and any information he can think of about the man he met with. 

He is not a spy. He’s never actually even liked spies that much. He’s seen the James Bond movies but that’s the extent of his knowledge. Waverly’s books are helpful enough but there’s not exactly a guide for dealing with the KGB when they’ve offered you what you’ve always wanted. 

Instead he makes a careful plan. When he returns to London his mother will return to work and he will have three days before he must return to school. On the first, he’ll enter the embassy and tell them who he is. Hopefully he’ll have met his father and reported the KGB to the proper authorities before he has to go back to the dorms. If the KGB is as capable as the book seems to suggest then everything should go according to plan. 

He returns the books to the library in the exact order and positions he found them in. He climbs into bed but sleep does not come. He thinks about exactly what he will say in the embassy, what he will wear, and what he will finally say when he comes face to face with his father for the first time. 

He supposes he won’t get a good night’s sleep until he returns to school and is finished with his business with the KGB. He could never be a spy – too anxious. He’d never sleep.


	4. Chapter Four

“Gaby, the director needs to see you.”

“What?” she asks, taking her headphones off. She’d been working uninterrupted for hours. Most of her team was still on vacation and would return next week. It had been relatively quiet and she’d spent the day catching up on the backlog of translation work. 

“The director needs to see you. Immediately.” The woman’s face is unmoving and unreadable. 

Gaby realizes at once that it must be serious. If it weren’t there would be no need to send his secretary down to fetch her for him. 

“Alright,” she says, standing and smoothing her skirt. She wonders what she’s done this time. Since Waverly left she had a tenuous relationship with the new director. He had been at the agency during the U.N.C.L.E. years and never quite approved of its existence. When it dissolved and Gaby came to work full time for MI6 he’d been reluctant. He never thought her loyalties were truly to Great Britain. Her relationship with Illya hadn’t helped her case with him. 

 

“You needed me?” She asks, entering through the open door. 

“Yes, please sit down. I’m afraid this isn’t going to be a pleasant conversation.”

“Have I done something wrong?”

“Not recently, no. I’m afraid this has to do with your son.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not following.”

The director sighs. “I’m doing this as a courtesy for your years of service. But I’m afraid the situation doesn’t look good.” He opens the manila folder on his desk and places it in front of her. “These photos were taken two days ago.” Clear as day it showed Sasha entering the embassy. He had tried to conceal his face with a baseball cap but he hadn’t avoided all the cameras. “Alexander entered the Soviet Embassy and left two hours later. We do not know for sure whom he met with but we suspect it was this man,” he said gesturing to the photograph. “Vladimir Nikolayev. He is doing consular work here in London but he is KGB. He approached Alexander a week before Christmas.”

“And you’re just telling me now?” Gaby purses her lips and bites back the anger. 

“You’re lucky I’m telling you at all.” 

“What do they want with him?” 

“What do you think?”

“But he’s just a child.”

“He is sixteen, sure, but I’ve met the boy; he’s mature for his age. I don’t know why we hadn’t thought of it earlier. I wouldn’t have guessed they would have approached him before he was at university, but he really is the perfect candidate for them to recruit.” 

“Alexander’s no communist.” If she’s being honest with herself, the director is right. She knows why people spy: money, ideology, coercion, or ego. As his mother she’s the first to admit that Sasha had a bit of an ego, but nothing beyond the typical teenage boy with above average intelligence and abilities. They’d taken a risk all those years ago when they made the choice to keep Alexander in the dark and Illya out of his life. There was a chance he’d resent one or both of them for making the decision. She could have never predicted he’d end up turning to the KGB. Surely he must be being coerced. She does not want to consider the alternative. 

“No, he’s not. He is a sixteen-year-old boy who’s grown resentful of not knowing his father. Our source says they’ve given him Colonel Kuryakin’s file.” 

It makes sense. It’s not coercion per say but it may as well be a billion dollars. Sasha had given up asking her questions long ago, but on occasion Waverly or Napoleon would report to her that he’s asked something about his father. She knows that over Christmas he’d begged Napoleon for any information he could give. Napoleon had sworn to her he’d betrayed nothing. 

“I don’t understand. No one was supposed to know. The KGB wasn’t supposed to have any idea who his father is.” 

“A plausible goal when he was young I suppose, but who could deny it now? They would not be a very good intelligence agency if they could not figure out his paternity. It could very well have been by chance. Any member of the KGB stationed in London who’s ever met Colonel Kuryakin could have seen him on the streets or something and made the connection.”

She supposes it’s true. The resemblance was unnerving, but why would the KGB care about a child? Illya isn’t even their most effective agent anymore. He’s respected of course, but he’s done nothing to give the KGB a single doubt since he left U.N.C.L.E. for Moscow all those years ago. He has said yes to every assignment, even when he didn’t want to. Even if they knew, they should have no reason to make contact. 

“You’re not going to arrest him, are you?”

“Well, he hasn’t done anything wrong yet. We’ve brought him in, just to have a conversation. There is a chance we could use him to send false information to the Russians. There is also a chance this whole thing is a set up to get us to tip our hand. Nikolayev may have realized he was being followed and made the approach anyway. We can’t rule anything out.”

“My son is not going to be dangled for the KGB. It’s not happening.”

“Your son walked into the Soviet embassy. He may have met with a very important officer. We already have him in our custody – we don’t need your permission to speak with him. It’s not open to debate. This is a matter of national security.”

“Are you serious?” Gaby asks. “He’s a sixteen year old boy. I don’t care how mature you think he is. He’s not going to pass nuclear secrets – he doesn’t know anything. Allow me to speak with him first.”

“We’ll see what he knows – and you’re right, you should be the one to speak to him first. I assume you have a method of contacting Colonel Kuryakin. I would suggest that you let him know what’s going on.”

“Yes, a few methods. I fear that I will alert the KGB to the whole situation if I use the emergency method. The others all take too long. I will send a message, but it may be some time before he’s able to respond. He’s in Afghanistan.”

“We’ve also considered the idea that Colonel Kuryakin helped set the meeting and approach.”

“Thomas, you have never liked Illya but I would stake my life and my son’s that he would never send the KGB to Alexander.” 

“I trust your judgment on that matter. You know him better than anyone I suppose.”

“Illya isn’t involved.” She runs her hands through her hair and sighs. “Do you have any idea what the KGB asked him to do?”

“No, but we can guess. He’s a British citizen. You work here. I would imagine that they encouraged him to join MI6 and feed them information. At the very least I imagine that’s what they asked him. Has be asked anything about the KGB or Soviet Union lately?”

Her face falls into her hands and she fights back a groan. “He’s started teaching himself Russian.”

“Alright. Well, the situation is what it is. He’s given them nothing. We have him downstairs in interrogation. You can go and speak to him now if you wish.”

Gaby nods and suppresses the urge to scream in frustration. None of this was supposed to happen. All the choices she’s made – even the ones she regrets – were to keep him out of the spy game and away from Soviet intelligence. It’s just her luck that the one thing she’d worked so hard and sacrificed so much to prevent had happened anyway. 

When she gets home she will make the call to the newspaper they both subscribe to and take out the necessarily classified ad to alert him to the situation and set a meeting. Now, she must go interrogate her only child.


	5. Chapter Five

“What the fuck were you thinking?” she says as she slams open the interrogation room door.

Alexander is seated at the table. He’s not wearing handcuffs but his nose is freshly broken and he looks worse for wear. His face betrays little and if he weren’t her son she’d be intimidated by the teenager at the table. She imagines that if he were raised in Moscow he’d already be at a military academy, being groomed to continue his father’s legacy at the KGB. In London, he is a regular teenager, but apparently just as capable as he would be if he’d grown up behind the iron curtain. 

“What happened?” she asks, her voice softening. She crosses the room and grabs his chin to examine his face. “Which agents did this to you?” she demands.

He pulls free of her grasp and looks down. She recognizes the look as shame. She’s seen the same look on his father’s face when he returned to Moscow 17 years earlier. “Mama, it’s not their fault. Look, I got nervous when they came to talk to me so I may have run away. They were waiting in the back in case I ran. I thought it might be a good idea to fight them and try to escape. It wasn’t.”

“Oh Sasha.” She finally takes a seat across from him. “You’re in a lot of shit; you know that, right?”

“Yes.” He nods. 

“You’ve done a stupid thing.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Are you going to tell me what you were thinking?”

“What were you thinking?” He’s stone faced and even his voice is controlled. 

“I’m sorry?”

“What were you thinking when you made the choice to keep my father from me?”

“Is that what this is all about? You’re mad at me so you decide to screw me and MI6 and go to the Soviet Union? I don’t get it. Please, explain the situation to me. I want to understand.”

“They came to me. I was minding my own business and this guy came up to me in this café. He gave me a file. I took it. Perhaps if you’d told me my father was a KGB Colonel all of this could have been avoided.”

“Is this really what this is all about?”

“Yes!” Finally, he betrays some emotion. 

“I kept it a secret in order to keep you safe.”

“The KGB knew all about me. And if it were so dangerous what were you doing running around Europe with a KGB agent?” He practically spits the accusation. 

“What?”

“I read the file. I know what you were doing when I was away at school.” His eyes flash hurt and betrayal. “It would have been easier to learn that you hadn’t spoken to him or that you hated each other. I can’t believe you kept him from me while meeting up with him while I was at school.”

“Sasha—“ 

“I didn’t think you were ever going to tell me anything. The Russians said they had information and I thought they were a safer bet.”

Gaby looks as if she’s been slapped. “Alexander!”

“I wasn’t going to actually do anything. I just wanted to meet him.”

“Oh, you weren’t going to commit treason? I’m relieved.”

“I documented all my contact with the Russians. I was going to report it. I know how this game is played. I’m not an idiot. My contact would have been thrown out of the country before I ever had a chance to figure things out.”

“Did you really think I was so cruel, that I’d keep you from your father?” The question hurts her to even ask. She had always planned to tell him the truth when he went off to university or if the Cold War came to an end – whichever happened first. 

“You have kept me from my father. Have you been in contact with him?”

“I just learned of your contact with the Russians in the last hour. No, I haven’t. Have you been in contact with him?”

“Not directly.”

“Alexander, what does that mean?”

“I’m going to meet him. The KGB have called him to London. He thinks he’s coming in about a job in the London embassy. His meeting is with me. It’s a surprise. His flight arrives from Kabul this afternoon. I’m supposed to be meeting with him at 5.”

“Sasha,” her voice is soft and the anger has faded to disappointment, concern even. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Alexander cries out. His cold façade has cracked and tears are running down his flushed cheeks. He’d been trying so hard to hold it together but the weight of the situation is too much to bear. “Why not?” 

“Illya is going to be very upset about all of this. I—he would not want you to be around when he gets angry. This whole business, he’s going to be very angry.”

“I read his file,” Alexander chokes out, “I know all about the rage episodes. I’m an idiot. I should have known. He’s going to hate me.” His tears turn to sobs.

She crosses the room and joins him on the other side of the table, taking him in her arms. “Sasha, my love, your father is not a perfect man, but he loves you more than anyone or anything on the face of the earth. I am promising you that he could never hate you.”

He simply nods and continues crying into her blouse. There’s a mix of blood and snot and tears but she doesn’t care. She holds him until he stops crying. It takes what feels like an eternity for him to stop. 

She continues rubbing his back as she speaks again. It always used to calm him as a child. “Sasha,” she begins, though she’s addressing the agents on the other side of the mirror, “you’re not going to the meeting with the KGB today. Tell me, where is the file they gave you and where have you logged your contact with them?”

He lets out a choked exhale, “the file is under my mattress. There’s a Russian language book on my bedside table. There’s a notebook beneath it where I’ve been practicing writing – the information about the KGB is hidden in there.”

“Someone is going to go get them and then someone, another agent, is going to debrief you about the situation.”

“What’s going to happen now?”

“We’re going to figure that out. Someone is going to debrief you and then you’re going to stay here until this is all sorted out. You won’t be going to the embassy tonight or ever again.”

“Yeah, I figured.” He lets out a short laugh. “I’m sorry about all of this.”

“It’s going to be okay,” she tells him, even though she’s not entirely convinced it will be.


	6. Chapter Six

“Teller, it wasn’t your call to make the decision about the meeting.” The director is fuming, but Gaby frankly does not care. It’s not his decision to make what happens with her son or with Illya. She is not prepared to send her son into the Soviet Embassy. With or without training it’s not going to happen. She would never allow it. Whether he looked like a man or not, he was still a child. He was her baby, would always be her baby.

“Sir, he’s got a broken nose, he just sobbed. I know my son; he’s too unstable to go in there. He will be unpredictable. The meeting with Illya is supposed to take place just before dinnertime tonight. There will not be enough time to train him or properly prepare him.”

“Well, we’re going to have to do something to bring Colonel Kuryakin in or the officer that approached Alexander. We can’t just sit around and do nothing. We need to make a move. We need some leverage.” 

“We’re going to have to arrest Illya at the airport,” Gaby offers. “It’s the only solution.”

“And what reason do we give the KGB?” Thomas asks. “If we arrest him without evidence we’ll create an international incident or get him into trouble with the KGB.”

“According to Alexander, they don’t have any definitive proof that I’ve been in contact with Illya. They suspect but they don’t have anything solid. For all they know there could have been a falling out. It wouldn’t be implausible for Alexander to have told me about his meeting and for me to suspect that Illya was somehow involved. You can charge him with espionage and accuse him of orchestrating this plan.”

“They’ll close ranks. It will be very difficult to determine who is responsible for the plot once they realize we’re on to them. I think we should weigh all our options when it comes to Colonel Kuryakin.”

“His flight lands soon. They’re supposed to be having the meeting tonight. We don’t have a lot of time to make this decision. I am as certain as I can be that this is the best solution.”

“Do you think he would defect?” It would be a victory for MI6. Other intelligence agencies had gotten information from KGB and GRU generals, but Colonel Kuryakin was still an active field agent. He could tell them information about the Soviet plan in Afghanistan that could change the course of history. Few high-ranking members of the KGB had defected. 

“If I asked him to.” He would do anything Gaby asked. Anything. 

“Perfect. We can arrange it all after we collect him at the airport.” He tries not to sound too giddy at the prospect of a new defector. It would earn him a place in the hall of fame of MI6 directors. 

“I didn’t say I was going to ask him.” It had been on the tip of her tongue since 1970. She’d never quite had the courage to speak the words. She could never have asked him to betray his country. 

“Alexander clearly wants it.” He knows he should not use her son, her only child to guilt trip her. He thinks about his own children and how devastating it would be to not be a part of their lives. If Alexander would go to the trouble of keeping such a massive secret in hopes of meeting his father, surely he was ask him to stay in England if given the chance. 

“I’m not sure his judgment is to be trusted right now.”

“What’s the point of him staying with them? They know about Alexander. It’s probably going to be worse for him if he goes back. You know that.”

“It’s not my choice. It has never been my choice. Illya’s always been a patriot.”

“If he’s arrested for espionage, they’ll want him back. Will he want to go back?”

“I don’t know, sir. You’ll have to ask him – preferably once he’s in handcuffs. If he wants to go back then you can trade him for some of our people. This is the best play regardless of the outcomes.” 

“Well, no need to worry about that now. We should get a team together and head to the airport. His flight lands in an hour and fifteen minutes. Are you going to stay here with Alexander or come along?”

“I should go. I will wait in the car and explain the situation after you’ve made the arrest. He should hear about this mess from me.”

“Very well, be ready to deploy in fifteen minutes.”

In all likelihood Illya will want to defect. She knows he will be very angry. She’s coming along because, yes, she needs to be the one to tell him what’s happened, but she’s also coming because she’s afraid of what will happen if she doesn’t. She has not always been able to stop his outbursts, but she’s had more success than he ever had alone. 

She wonders who in the KGB thought this would be a good idea. If anything, they’ve likely forced his defection instead of reaffirming his loyalty or bringing his son into the fold. Perhaps she should have asked him to defect 17 years ago when she’d found out she was pregnant. Then, Illya had been the KGB’s most effective agent but he held a lower rank. She is not sure if he was more dangerous to the KGB then compared to now. 

The Illya she knows would shun the KGB for approaching Alexander. His choices had been made for him long ago – before he was even old enough to consider. The moment his father had been sent to the gulag his future had been set. He never had a choice, but Alexander did. That’s what they’d both sacrificed for – so that Alexander could have whatever future he wanted. 

The part of her she usually ignores cries out that the three of them could be a family. They could settle in a little cottage in the countryside. Illya would play chess against himself to pass the time and he and Alexander could talk and make up for all the lost time. They could speak to each other in Russian. They could forget about the last decade and a half and start a new life free of their pasts. 

Never before had it even been a possibility. Even if he defects it will not be so simple. She does not allow herself the fantasy for another moment, instead she grabs her bag and sets off with the team for the airport.


	7. Chapter Seven

Illya disembarks from the plane and cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong. Perhaps it’s because for the first time, he’s in the same city as both Gaby and their son. Perhaps it’s the men with guns that catch him off guard as he enters the terminal. If he were younger he would fight, but he’s gotten far too old for this. He is tired from the long flight and from the internal politics at the KGB. Perhaps time in a British jail will be like a vacation. That is, if it is in fact a British team. One can never be too sure. 

“Illya Kuryakin, you’re under arrest for espionage.” One of the men pointing a gun in his face says. It is not the first time he’s been arrested. It’s happened multiple times over his long career, mostly in remote areas where the whole thing was resolved with little fuss. Surely he will be back in Kabul in a few days, this whole ordeal behind him. 

“I am a diplomat,” Illya says, looking down at the agent. “You cannot arrest me. I demand to speak to my embassy. They will confirm that I am a diplomat.”

“Colonel Kuryakin,” Thomas whispers to him as he steps forward and places the handcuffs on Illya, “I am the director of MI6. Please, come along. We will call your embassy when we arrive at headquarters.”

Illya nods and goes along without resistance. He’s not thrown in the back of a police car, instead put into the back of a town car.

“Gaby,” he says, his face contorting with concern. “Why am I here? Has something happened with Alexander?”

“No,” she reassures him as she places a kiss on his cheek. “Well, actually, yes. He’s the reason you’ve been called to London.”

“I do not understand.” Illya’s face is neutral now that he knows his son is safe. 

“Your people approached him at Christmas, told him all about you.” She has no idea what he knows and long he’s known it. He had, in the past, often learned something about their son before she did. She had to deal with a moody teenager; he dealt with neutral sources and stolen documents. 

“What?” he says in a voice that might be mistaken by others as calm. She knows he is preparing to explode. She realizes at once that he had no idea, not an inkling. 

She pauses, considering her words carefully before softly telling him. “There is no job opening at the London Embassy. Your meeting was to be wish Sasha.” 

“Who?” he asks and she knows what he means. His fingers are tapping as best they can with the handcuffs. 

“We suspect Vladimir Nikolayev,” she says. 

“I will kill him.”

“No,” she sighs. “Illya you’re really under arrest.”

“Please start from beginning.”

“When Sasha was home for the Christmas holiday a member of the KGB approached him in a café. He tried to recruit him and he gave him your file. He did not tell me when it happened. I found out today. He went to the embassy and they arranged today’s meeting.”

“Did he tell you?”

“No, MI6 knew that he’d been approached and they had photos of him entering the embassy.”

“This should not have happened.”

“How long have the KGB known about him?”

“Since the moment I arrived back in Moscow permanently.”

“And you never told me?”

“I was handling it.”

“Not very well, apparently.”

“Gaby—“

“Illya I do not wish to argue right now. We need to clean up this mess.”

“Will I meet him?”

“Yes.”

Illya smiles a rare smile. “What is the move here?”

“It is your call. Do you want to go back? Illya, the director can arrange a defection,” she says, finally acknowledging that they’re not alone in the back of the car. “If that’s what you want I mean.”

“I do not want to go back to the KGB, not after they have gone back on their words. I was given promise that if I did exactly what I was told then Alexander would be left alone. They would not try to recruit him as a source or as an illegal.”

“Have you done anything that would have given them any doubts?” Gaby asks the question and the director breathes a sigh of relief. He’d read the file and did not want to risk alienating his new defector with an insulting question. It is better that it comes from Gaby. 

“Nothing. Vladimir Nikolayev is an ambitious man. Perhaps he thought he would earn the job in United States or take my job in Afghanistan if he recruited Alexander. I do not know. He will not get either job now. I am not going back.” He turns and addresses the director for the first time. “I will tell you anything you wish to know. I know the name of every mole in your organization and in the CIA. I know the name of every Russian operative working in London.”

“We’ll debrief you immediately. By the time your people realize you’re not in some secret prison, you’ll be safely tucked away.” 

“No. I want to see my son first.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Illya, is this the best time?” Gaby asks. 

“If not now, then when?”

“You’re right. It’s just that Alexander has had a trying day. He is so desperate to meet you though.”

“I would like to meet him tonight. After, I can give statement, but I want to keep this as small as we can. There are leaks in your organization. I will give a statement to you,” he says gesturing to the director, “but I do not want it to go beyond that.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“That is not acceptable. I will explain everything later, but you should not be so sure your agents are not working for us.” He pauses, “the KGB I mean.”

“Fine,” the director relents.

“Good. Tell your people that you have taken me to prison, tell my people. I just would like to meet my son before.”

“Alexander is due back at school tomorrow,” Gaby says. “I think it is best he does not know the truth.”

“I agree.” Illya nods. “Once he misses the meeting tonight they will suspect something. If I were leading the team I would put surveillance on him and wait for him to make a mistake, to reveal that all is not as it appears.”

“I’m afraid, Colonel, that this means you must actually go to prison.”

“Is not so bad. Western prisons are very luxurious.”

Gaby laughs and leans into him. “Oh, Illya. I think we’re all going to be okay.”

He says nothing, but he places a handcuffed hand on her knee. He smiles a small smile and relaxes for the first time in seventeen years. Maybe, just maybe it will be okay. They’ll all be okay.


	8. Chapter Eight

They stand in the hallway, both frozen in place. Following his interrogation, Sasha had been placed in a conference room. They’d taken the cuffs off of him and told him that his father had been taken into custody. They’d told him he’d have a chance to see him before Illya was sent off for interrogation. It’s not how Gaby would have handled things but she’d chosen to go to the airport for Illya’s arrest. She can’t complain now. What’s done is done. 

“Illya,” she says, “you’re going to have to go in eventually. I’ll be right behind you. After you have a chance to talk I mean.” She reaches out and strokes his arm but he’s unmoving, his gaze focused on the door. 

“I do not know what to say to him.”

“It doesn’t matter. He will be happy to meet you. It doesn’t matter what you say.”

“To me it matters.”

“Just say hello. He knows who you are. The hard part is over.”

“I think hard part is just beginning.”

“Are you scared?” she asks. 

“I should go in now.” He says, ignoring her question and shutting the door behind him. 

For the first time in his life he is face to face with his son. He’s seen photos, heard stories, but it does not compare to seeing him face to face and looking him in the eye. 

“Здравствуйте” Alexander says, staring at the man across the room from him. “Я не говорю по-русски.”

Illya’s face contorts into something like a smile at the sound of his son speaking Russian. His accent is terrible. They’ll have to work on it, eventually, once he’s out of jail and free of the KGB. “It is okay. We can speak English, or German if you prefer.”

“English is fine. I’m sorry, I don’t know what I should call you.” Alexander fidgets a bit but once he realizes he’s doing it his hands still at his sides. 

“Whatever you like, Illya, father, whatever you like.”

An awkward tension exists in the room. Both try to ignore it, but it’s palpable. It would be easier if Alexander were little. There have been too many years of silence between them. Alexander is not a little boy able to be swept up into Illya’s arms. Things will not be easy. Perhaps they could have been, but now Illya must lie, another lie after sixteen years of lies. 

Alexander breaks the stalemate first, crossing the room and hugging his father. It’s as awkward as the tension in the room but after a few seconds, Illya loops his arms around his son. They stand in silence, a silence easier than words. 

“I’m so happy,” Sasha cries, his voice cracking slightly. “I’m so happy.”

“Alexander,” Illya begins but he cannot find the words to say anything else. He just stands there and holds his son. 

Alexander breaks the hug and steps back. “Are you going to live with us?” he asks with a childlike innocence. It’s a reminder of how young he really is. Big and tall and able to keep the KGB a secret, but in some ways he is still a little boy. He is sixteen, barely so.

“No,” Illya answers. “You know I am in the KGB, MI6 cannot just let me go. I am going to have to answer some questions.”

“But after?”

“Alexander,” he sighs, “I know this is a lot to take in and overwhelming and stressful. None of this is your fault. I need you to understand that. None of this is your fault.”

“Are you going to jail?”

“Yes.”

Alexander crosses his arms and looks away. Illya knows the look. Even though he’s been absent from his lift for the past sixteen years, he knows there’s no point in talking to the boy. It will only upset him. 

It is silent until Gaby enters and tries to talk to Alexander. He isn’t interested in speaking to anyone. Gaby tries to fill the painful silence but eventually it is time for Illya to go back into custody. 

He says goodbye to Alexander, reassuring him that none of this is his fault. Gaby follows Illya into the hallway and kisses him goodbye, whispering in his ear that everything is going to be okay. 

Gaby returns to the conference room to retrieve Alexander. He’s dissolved into tears. Before today, she cannot recall the last time she say him cry. She vaguely remembers him crying three or four years ago when he broke his nose playing rugby. 

“Sasha,” she practically whispers, like she used to when he was a boy, “Sasha, liebling, please don’t cry. Everything is going to be okay.”

“How can you say that? I barely got to meet my father and I didn’t know what to say so I stood there like an idiot, and now I’ve gotten him sent to jail.”

“Sasha, none of that is true. You didn’t get him sent to jail. You’re going to see him again. That is a promise. I am promising you that you are going to see him again.”

Alexander cries the whole ride home and refuses dinner. He goes straight to his room and slams the door. 

Gaby stands in the kitchen and finally allows the tears to fall. She’d known this day would come eventually but she never expected it to go like this. She’s worried for Illya and the fallout with the KGB. She’s worried for their son. She’s worried because this whole situation feels wrong. Her instincts have dulled in the sixteen years she’s been out of the field, but they’re still there. Something if off about the whole situation. Illya and MI6 will work it all out, she reassures herself. She’s got the more herculean task of handling Alexander’s guilt and moodiness. It’s going to be okay, she reminds herself like she’d reminded Illya. It’s going to be okay.


	9. Chapter Nine

Alexander returns to school because it’s the only thing he can do. He watches the anchor on BBC News announce that MI6 has captured a Soviet Agent on British soil but he tries to put it out of his mind. It helps that his friends at school don’t really care about politics or foreign policy. He wonders if they even saw the story on the news. Even if they did it probably meant nothing to them. The man arrested was just another faceless Russian sent to England to kill them all. He knows better. 

If his roommate notices anything, he doesn’t say anything. Charlie, his roommate, could sleep through a nuclear war. He has no idea that Alexander hasn’t been sleeping and sometimes paces as night when the knots in his stomach make him sick to his stomach. His rugby coach compliments his focus and intensity at the first practice back but other than that no one seems to notice anything different about him. He’s half-tempted to call his mom and beg her to come and pick him up. He’s more than half-tempted, actually, but he doesn’t. He needs school and rugby as a distraction otherwise he thinks the guilt will eat him alive. 

At MI6 headquarters Gaby tries to stay out of the whole mess. That, of course, is not possible. She gets to work in the mid-morning after she’s dropped Alexander back at the dorms. Instead of heading up to her boss’s office and demanding an update on Illya she heads to her office and transcribes and translates a recording from a bug placed in East Germany. 

She has the self-control to wait until after lunch to demand an update on the situation. It’s all very hush-hush. Even she has difficulty getting information from the director. She’s not entirely sure what information Illya has handed over. On the one hand, he’s furious with the KGB, but if he gives away too much he risks putting all of them in danger. 

The director does manage to give her a bit of interesting information. He doesn’t say anything outright, but he strongly implies that Anderson, the posh new recruit in her department, might not be entirely trustworthy and shouldn’t be given any particularly sensitive information. It’s always the posh ones. 

 

What she really wants is to get to see Illya face to face. It shouldn’t be such an issue – after all, they were separated for most of the last seventeen years. It’s harder knowing that he’s on British soil. Her security clearance is high enough and Illya isn’t really a prisoner. There should be no reason why she wouldn’t be allowed to see him in secret. 

Finally, after days of asking, Gaby is granted permission to see Illya. He’s being held in a secret prison off in the countryside. A military escort drives Gaby there in the middle of the night and searches her before she’s allowed in a small room with him. As a longtime MI6 employee she finds the whole process a bit insulting. 

She enters the stark, cold room and finds Illya handcuffed to the table and wearing an orange jumpsuit that doesn’t suit him. He looks tired. His hair is inexplicably perfect and he gives her a small smile when he sees her.

“дорогой,” she says, giving him a quick kiss, “are you okay?”

“да,” he tells her. “I have been better, but I am good.”

“What’s been happening?”

“First, how is Sasha?”

Gaby sighs, “he is okay. He is back at school. I think he will be okay.”

“Have you told him anything?”

“No. I did not want to risk it. He’ll be okay.”

“Okay.”

“Now tell me, what’s it been like here?”

“English prisons are very luxurious,” he smirks and Gaby laughs. 

“I am being serious, Illya. Please tell me the truth.”

He sighs, “this is the truth. The food is not bad, for English food.”

“Please, Illya.”

This time he frowns and leans in as closely as he can with the handcuffs holding him to the table. “I think they were prepared for me.”

“What?” she asks in a whisper.

“I do not think my capture was last minute plan.”

“What are you saying?”

“I am saying they knew about Sasha’s contact and let things happen to make this the result. Or I am saying something else entirely.’

Gaby understands his meaning. “Is Vladimir Nikolayev loyal to the Soviet Union?”

“I do not like him but I do not think he is working for MI6 if that is what you’re asking.”

“But it is possible?”

“It is possible. He is ambitious, but I did not think he likes the west. He wanted to go to Afghanistan.”

“I’ll have to investigate.”

“Gaby-“ he warns. 

“You’re in no position to do it and someone has to. Please, Illya, I don’t want to fight with you. I don’t have the time.”

“Fine, but be careful. There is something not right about all of this.”

“I will be careful. I promise.”

“Good,” he says and she takes one of his handcuffed hands in hers. 

“I hope they will release you soon.”

“Me too,” he says.

The two of them sit there until the guard comes and retrieves Illya to take him back to his cell. It’s a comfortable silence but one filled with longing. 

Gaby returns to London just as the sun is rising. She’s exhausted, but she heads into work early because she knows she won’t be able to sleep. 

She’s the first one in the office so no is there to see her pouring over Vladimir Nikolayev’s file. She’ll call Napoleon when it’s midmorning in New York, she’ll see if he knows anything about CIA assets in the KGB. She’s going to follow this as far as it goes, wherever it goes. She has no idea what she’ll uncover.


	10. Ten

Napoleon is awoken by the sound of his cellphone ringing. Beside him, a Pan Am flight attendant stirs but doesn’t wake. He wraps a blanket around his waist and heads out to take the call in the living room, in her living room. He’d forgotten to book a hotel during this visit. He was so used to the Agency doing it for him that it had slipped his mind. 

“Solo,” he answers. 

“Napoleon.”

“Gaby, hello. I was expecting a call from you days ago.” He’d seen the news and had thought about calling Gaby half a dozen times in the days since. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it. He figured that if she needed him, she’d call him. He had gotten himself to D.C. just in case. She was either going to call him or he was going to investigate on his own. He’s happy she called. 

“Well, as I’m sure you know, things have been a little complicated over here.” If she’d been in the room she would have seen him roll his eyes at her understatement. 

“Are you calling from a secure line?” He asks suddenly, remembering tradecraft. 

“Of course.” She responds, slightly annoyed at his insinuation that she might have forgotten such a thing. 

“Good. Then tell me, what’s this business with Peril being arrested all about?”

“I thought Waverly would have told you.”

“I don’t think Waverly knows as much as you think he does. He called me to see what I knew about this mess.” 

Waverly had called to talk about the news. Of course it’s possible that Waverly knew more than he was letting on, but Napoleon didn’t think so. In hindsight Sasha’s sudden interest in learning Russian had been suspicious but it did little to clarify anything about the situation for either of the men. 

“MI6 has done a good job of keeping things hush-hush then.”

“Please enlighten me, Gab.” 

He hears her sigh through the phone and take a deep breath. “It started before Christmas. A member of the KGB made contact with Sasha and told him about Illya.”

“What?”

“Sasha had Illya’s file and had set a meeting with the KGB. The Rezidentura called Illya in about a position in the Soviet Embassy in London. That’s where he was going when he got arrested. There was never a meeting. At least not about a job. He was going to meet with Sasha, but MI6 found out about it, or knew about the whole thing the whole time.”

“And Illya?”

“He’s under arrest, at least for now. He’s planning on staying in England when this situation is resolved, if you know what I mean.”

Napoleon rubbed his eyes. “Who in the KGB thought it was a good idea to test Illya like this?”

“That’s what I was calling you about. I have a name. Vladimir Nikolayev.”

“The man who approached Sasha?”

“Yes.”

“What do you need me to find out?”

“I cannot probe too deeply into this. I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you why that is.”

“You don’t.”

“I need you to see if Nikolayev has any connections to the west.”

“You think he’s working for the CIA?”

“Or MI6. I don’t know.”

“Any evidence of either?”

“Just a hunch. Something is not right. 

“What does Illya think? Have you been able to speak with him?”

“I saw him last night. Illya does not think that he is involved with a foreign intelligence agency, but I do not know. He thinks Nikolayev was making a play for his job in Afghanistan but I do not know what to think. I just, Napoleon, can you look into it?”

“Of course. How’s Sasha?”

“Not good.”

“Is he back at school?”

“Yes. I did not want to send him, but it was for the best. He won’t get himself into any trouble with the KGB there and at least the schoolwork will serve as a distraction.”

“And how are you handling all of this?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Gaby-“

“Napoleon. I will be much better if we can get to the bottom of this.”

“I’ll get on it as soon as possible.”

“Thank you.”

The line clicks but Napoleon continues to sit there with the massive phone pressed to his ear. The morning sun is coming in through the curtains and Valerie will be up shortly. He should leave before she does. There is lots of work to be done. 

If he’s fast he can make it to Langley before his coworkers and take a look at the documents about their assets within the Soviet Union. If this Vladimir Nikolayev if working for them there should be some record of him. 

He creeps back into the bedroom and dresses silently. He wonders briefly if he should leave a note for Valerie but he decides against it. It’s not like they were ever going to see each other again anyway. 

As he drives down to headquarters, he hopes that something will come out of Gaby’s hunch. It doesn’t seem likely. While he’s not exactly the director of the agency, he spends most of his time working on projects related to the Soviet Union. They have codenames for all their sources. He’s never even heard the codename for a high-ranking KGB member working for them. That doesn’t mean that Nikolayev isn’t an American spy, just that he’s never given them anything of value. 

Napoleon also decides that it’s been too long since he’s seen Sasha. It’s only been a few weeks, but the boy needs to be taken out to lunch and given a stiff drink. He’ll arrange a flight as soon as he figures out what’s going on with Nikolayev. He has ways of figuring these things out. He’ll have to arrange a dinner date with Denise, the secretary to the Deputy Director. If there’s a high level spy within the KGB she’ll know, even if she doesn’t know she knows. He thinks it’s best he arranges the date for tonight. He hates thinking about Gaby and Sasha and how they’re handling all of this. Once he gets this taken care of, he can turn his attention to Sasha. Hopefully he won't be too late.

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my drafts for ages. Dunkinlove's fantastic Beyond the Wall series inspired me to finish this and post it.


End file.
